


Common Grounds

by Turtleneck (caretta)



Series: SoNein Crack Ship Tournament [1]
Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Gen, Hide Yo Kids Hide Yo Boys, M/M, Slade Wilson and Bruce Wayne Share The Same Taste In Men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-08-21 22:27:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8262667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caretta/pseuds/Turtleneck
Summary: Sodam and Slade take the first steps in a circumstantial dance.





	

It was the forest on Mogo, Sodam thought at first. The grass was just as lush, the air just as humid, a sort of warm invisible blanket settling on his skin. But the fauna did not look the same, he noticed in that distant way people accepted the strangeness of their dreams. A forest, not Mogo -- Sodam had been to too many planets to dissect the matter much more than that. 

He walked, trusting his ring to lead him where he needed to go. There was a man. A friend. Sodam needed to find him. He looked around, mindful of where he put his feet. Wouldn't want to set off those dirty traps by the VC. Sodam did not know what "vee-cee" meant, but his subconscious seemed to know. To both dread it, while resigned to its presence, even at times admiring its tenacity. 

There were nothing left but a freefall, however, when he spotted his friends. 

The lightning pain was instant. Sodam dropped to his knees next to them, guts and blood, the faces of everyone who fought by him lifeless and accusing. He thought he saw Dassog, Arisia, Killowog, all of them ambushed, slaughtered. All around him the wind picked up leaves, picked up rings, they scattered around him like the bitter laughs of lives lost too early in a war without winners. He had lost them forever, he was always late, his own fault, he--

Sodam yanked back, staggering, mind throbbing with flashes of what his ring had picked up. The Earthling looked up from where he sat on the ground, bound by Sodam's construct, his one eye quickly flickering from surprise to a much deeper, more calculating glint. When Sodam finally pulled himself together, the man smiled, 

"Looks like might share the same purpose, soldier."

Sodam looked the old man over -- his neat white hair, the scar once hidden under that ridiculous black-orange mask, his powerful body, the knee-high pile of weapons Sodam just managed to shake out of him. He might be a giant with the fitness of a seasoned veteran, but he was no soldier. Sodam scowled,

"You're a killer for hire. I share no common goal with the likes of you."

Slade titled his head, amused, as if he had been through this routine countless times before. As if there had been a throng of blacked-haired, blue-eyed young men who were suspicious of his intentions, but couldn't help striking a deal with him in the end. He looked like he had this cat in a bag, and it irked Sodam to no end. 

"Do you? That's a shame, then." Slade looked this ring-bearer up and down, noticing toned muscles outlined by his tight black-and-green uniform, the bits of skin littered with blood and bruises showing through the cuts. Kid looked like he had been through the wringer, and they hadn't even been stuck here more than an hour. But even lost and battered, his unkempt impatience had its charms. Slade knew what his old friend would say -- he had always had a type, after all. 

"You saw it yourself, I wasn't the one who brought you here." Actually, Slade was, but the client wanted to get rid of him after the deal was done. Predictably it only took one painful memory to distract the kid before that ring could finish scouring his brain. Mind-readers, always assuming vulnerability must be the absolute bottom, in stead of being effectively used at the forefront of his mind. 

The kid changed his stance, though still keeping green restraints in place, and Slade knew he was reconsidering. Truth was, he mustn't know what to do, or he would have escaped long ago instead of lingering here with Slade in this underground bunker, where they could be relatively safe from the giant purple beasts spitting fire upstairs. Slade sat up as straight as he could with giant chains around his chest, and looked him straight in the eye. 

"Say what you want about my profession, kid, but I know what it's like to fight in wars, to lose a friend. Your teammates and my client are still out there, I'm not going to abandon them. The question is, are you?"

This bastard was playing him, Sodam knew. If there were an ounce of trustworthiness in that one foxy eye, he would swallow his ring. But he was also stuck in some godforsaken dimension, running below twenty-percent. Couldn't afford to keep these chains much longer, if he wanted enough juice to fight his way out of here. 

Decision made, Sodam let him go, and incinerated the pile of weapons, except for one gun. 

"That should be enough. You'll stay in front of me at all times."

The man went to pick up his gun, checking the chambers.

"Would have preferred the katana," Slade said, ignoring the kid's snort, spending a second to mourn his favorite sword now melted into a blob of metal on the floor. Especially because it had some pleasant surprise installed in the handle that could knockout even a fresh-faced cosmic hero. Slade wondered if the kid knew, if that ring could scan for hidden devices somehow. It certainly promised more excitement in his future. 

Swinging the gun strap on, Slade headed to the ladder, making quick calculations on how to make his treacherous client pay thrice the price for all this trouble. Slade would make sure the kid took part in that, whether he knew it or not, because Slade liked his preys to dirty themselves. But first...

"What's your name, kid?"

 _None of your business_ and _Quit the condescension, I'm no "kid"_ both came to mind, but Sodam decided they were both beneath him. He had nothing to hide, not to mention, he was curious as well. Mentally referring to one as "dirty old man" got tiring rather quickly. 

"Sodam Yat. Yours?"

The man smirked again, that glint in his eyes making Sodam feel like a cold snake was slithering up his spine. "Slade Wilson," he rumbled, almost a purr, and Sodam had no time to decide if he was offended or intrigued before the mask came back on, hiding that look behind a menacing front again. Then, taking the lead as if he was the one with a power ring and not Sodam, Wilson climbed up and disappeared behind the trapdoor. 

End.


End file.
